


Rain

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 08:56:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11332536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atThe Basement, which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onThe Basement's collection profile.





	Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Rain by Kix

Slashx: 10 August 1998  
ArchiveX: 16 August 1998

TITLE: Rain  
AUTHOR: Exhausted!Kix  
RATING: I'm too tired. You rate it.  
DISCLAIMER: I don't mention any names, so... aww, what? Fine. They're not mine, but I'm working on it.  
LOVE & THANX: To Di, for her speedy beta and... just because she is who she is.<g>  
NOTES: This was written in around 10 minutes as a cure for insomnia. It didn't work. I need sleep. Feedback might help.... <g> I'm shameless.  
DEDICATION: For my boy, Mart. Because he loves the rain too. 

* * *

=========================  
RAIN  
by Kix - []   
=========================

I've always loved the rain. 

I remember sitting in my room during a storm when I was a kid, the window open so I could lean out, let the heavy droplets fall upon my head, roll over my skin in busy streams until the beads came so thick and fast that I was completely washed in water. 

I'd drive my mother insane; I'd listen to her complain as she wiped dried water stains from the window sill, as she spooned chicken soup into my mouth and mopped my burning forehead when my obsession brought with it a cold or a bout of flu.

But I never learned; never wanted to. 

The rain was worth it. 

I loved the heavy sweetness that hung in the air directly after a downpour; the way it dissipated into a fresh, invigorating tang. I'd ride my bike along the sidewalk when the clouds had moved on and I was allowed outside, taking deep lungfuls of the fragrant ether.

I loved the way the rain tasted on my tongue. Refreshing, slightly salty because we lived on the coast... it tasted like escape, like life. 

It tasted like him. 

That's what he tastes like to me. Like rain. Rich and bold and earthy. Comforting, yet dangerous. Fresh and clean, pure and innocent... yet tainted. Blemished, polluted. Subtle traces of the harm society inflicts on our world. 

Looking over at him where he is folded into the passenger seat on my right, he appears... troubled. The side of his forehead pressed against the window, his jaw is set tight, superficial dimples forming on stubbled cheeks. His lips, like strokes of an artist's fine-bristled brush on canvas, are down-set.

His thick lashes fall over glazed, distant eyes, and then rise back again in a blink.

When he is angry, those eyes are the dark, murky gray of the storm clouds. When he is aroused, they are the glinting, deep blue-green of raindrops that dapple peppermint leaves on a wet April morning. When he laughs, they are like droplets in a summer storm, sunlight infused in the watery orbs. And when he is afraid, they are like hailstones; hard, harsh, injurious.

I wouldn't dare describe what they look like now.

So many things about him remind me of the rains.

His voice. The sweet, gentle strumming of a spring shower.

His body. The hot, strong, liquid smoothness of a tropic deluge. 

He washes over my senses like the dense, coastal rain of my childhood. He consumes me, and I drown in him. 

I ask him if what he is thinking about, and he glances at me with a smile.

"Nothing," he says, and stretches like a sleepy cat, straining to touch his lips to my cheek then settling to gaze out at the passing landscape. "Looks like a storm's on the way," he yawns, and misses my grin.

Good. I've always loved the rain.

-End-

Go on. Just tell me how pointless that was at .


End file.
